


An Alto Clef

by HisClockworkServants



Category: SCP Foundation, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3052781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisClockworkServants/pseuds/HisClockworkServants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story where Dr. Clef and Dr. Kondraki venture into Night Vale to secure an unknown object. Written in broadcast style. </p><p>It’s kind of long because I try to match the length of an average WTNV Episode. Many references from both sides but I'm not going to give any spoilers. Also, as I wrote it some time ago, it may not apply to the current plot of the WTNV. Anyway, enjoy reading!</p><p>中文版本见此/Chinese version available here: http://palerealm.lofter.com/post/2a8c5b_10fcf59</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alto Clef

Hi! Joseph Fink here, creator of Welcome to Night Vale, one and only. We — hey, who are you people? How did you get in here? What are y—

_Subject secured. Mobile Task Force Omega-13 “Cheshire Cat” has engaged. Target area is now under full lockdown._

_Transmission monitoring initiated._

 

Believe it or not, lies are real. Real as Altoids mints.

Welcome to Night Vale.

 

Dear listeners, we have an unusual visitor in Night Vale today. He wears an over-sized coat, an over-sized hat that covers most of his facial features, and carries a shotgun. Hold on a second. It appears that we actually have _two_ visitors, as the second one just appeared out of nowhere, accompanied by a flash of figures resembling butterflies. Or at least that’s the closest description I can think of. The reality may just be more impossibly meaningless.

Oh wait. Wait. Listeners, I think… I may know one of the two visitors. I’ve had some… brief encounters with the one with the hat. He is to be called Alto Clef.

For anyone who lacks the knowledge of his nature, here’s a friendly reminder: Do not believe his words. Do not believe _any_ word he says. He can be easily recognized through his one green eye, one blue eye, and one hazel eye. Okay, that doesn’t really narrow things down, so let’s try this again. He has one green eye, one blue eye, and one hazel eye; his nose is described to be tomato-like; and his grin — please picture an inter-dimensional crack filled with large sharp teeth hovering in the air. That’s the idea.

It is also said that his face cannot be photographed by any means. To verify the claim, just borrow the camera from the gentlemen next to him and give it a try. I’m pretty sure nothing bad will happen.

Also, Mr. Clef plays ukulele well.

 

Attention, Night Vale! There’s an emergency!

Rabbit is not what it seems to be.

I repeat, rabbit is _not_ what it seems to be.

Please do not approach the rabbit. Please do not observe the rabbit. Please do not feed the rabbit.

The rabbit is very dangerous.

The rabbit is eating. It has eaten the whole Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area which of course, doesn’t really exist, and a few librarians we accidentally let loose a week ago.

Yeah, I know, nobody actually likes librarians. They drools over our fleshy bodies, turn kids in summer reading program into killing machines, and place _The Encyclopedia of Common Diseases_ just next to _Good Home Cooking_. But before the Wanderers’ Library completely takes over, they are still very important. Of course, after they arrive, we can just dump the old librarians into that forsaken playground slide in Grove Park which leads to a dark, narrow extra-dimensional tunnel.

The rabbit is still consuming.

The Sheriff’s Secret Police has begun to drop self-replicating cakes, which if not controlled will properly fill the whole universe, to meet its ceaseless appetite. But the rabbit didn’t stop.

The rabbit devours all.

More on this if we ever get a chance at all.

 

Now, back to our two visitors. We have not yet received words from the Secret Police strike team who has encountered them, as they are already… dead. There are signs of gunshots and lethal wounds caused by what appears to be a sword. But as we all know, guns don’t kill people, it is impossible to be killed by a gun, so it is likely that they are all slain by that single sword.

Their blood dripping down onto the street, and down to the sewer, ready to be collected by the Factory to produce our favorite blood candies, sold at only 1 dollar each package. We all love blood candies.

It seems that, after tackling with the team of Secret Police, the one who appeared out of nowhere just disappeared into thin air. He talked to Mr. Clef for a brief moment and slowly dissolved into flickering butterflies. His body first shattered, then grew colorful wings human eyes can’t register, and flew off into the distance. The citizens around gave the performance loud applause and cheering.

I asked my boyfriend, Carols the scientist, about the possibility of a man turning into colorful butterflies — or the possibility of a group of butterflies disguising as a middle-aged man and taking out an entire Secret Police team by a sword. But Carlos seemed… concerned. No, not concerned. Afraid.

Carols is afraid of them. He’s afraid of the man with three eyes and a cracking smile. He’s afraid of the man who can turn into butterflies or is actually butterflies in disguise. He voice trembled, his breath was harsh, and his heart pounded.

“Do not ask.” Carlos whispered. “Stay away from them. Stay away from him! Stay away from Dr. Kondraki! He will hurt you! He will kill you! He will destroy everything in his path! Run! _Run!_ Don’t mess with the senior staffs. Don’t ever.”

Then, he hanged up the phone. Oh, dear listeners, I guess Kondraki would be his name.

 

Traffic time, listeners.

A train. More specifically, a subway train. Even more specifically, a subway train in Greece. A subway train, with low growling sound, running in the hollow tunnel under the ground.

A group of people. A group of faceless people. A group of faceless people in suits. They stand in the subway station, motionless. They are good citizens.

We all know they are good citizens. We know because we read about them, we hear about them, we see them. Their stories are written between each line of our text books. Their history is carved in every corner of our buildings.

They are good citizens. They dressed in clean suits, motionless. They get in the train, and then get out of the train. They have no eyes, no noses, and no mouths. And that is good for them.

We watch them. We are watching them. Sometimes they are visible. Sometimes they have only their suits left. And sometimes…

Sometimes…

They just… look like… pigs.

The subway has arrived underneath Night Vale.

That has been traffic.

 

Dear listeners. The rabbit has stopped eating, consuming, devouring.

We are yet to be sure how this happened, but witnesses claim that the man with the hat, the fearsome and loathsome Alto Clef appeared on the scene. The Sheriff’s Secret Police took out their arms, and ordered the man to stop. So he did. He put his hands on his head, and raised his ukulele high up. He has no third arm. He put both hands on his head, while somehow holding the ukulele.

Then, he began to speak.

Dear Night Vale, I have no idea what he said, but I know that they are all vicious lies! Truly lies indeed!

We can’t hear what he said, but the Sheriff’s Secret Police could. They heard his words, and then lowered their arms. Smiles appear on their faces, the smile… Oh God, that loathsome smile! Is that even a smile? Their smiles are just like his smile. The smile is just like the smile we recently expel from Night Vale. The smile is just like the Devil’s smile.

Then the man walked past them. The man walked towards the rabbit, then picked it up, and carried it away. The Sheriff’s Secret Police are still just standing there, smiling. Self-replicating cakes pile around them.

Listeners, I just received a note from the City Council. They spoke in unison, trembling, telling us to stay away from the two visitors. Citizens, do listen to their warning! Stay away from the two men, stay away from butterflies and ukulele! Close your doors and windows! Hide beneath the table, shaking, and pray to any god who is not smiling!

The Sheriff’s Secret Police are buried in self-replicating cakes, but have not yet stopped smiling.

Dear listeners, Carlos was right! They are dangerous! Stay away from them! Stay away!

 

Now, a word from our sponsor:

You are here, in this world. But you shouldn’t be.

He’s not whole, but He shouldn’t be broken.

Look down. Look down at your hands, your flesh, your blood, your bones. They are wrong. They are filthy. They are sinned.

Look up. Look up at His heart, His mind, His body, His face. They are great. They are perfect. They are pure.

Filthy flesh can only seek help from pure metal. He must be whole. He must be magnificent. His throne of gold and silver must be seated at the top of the world, His crown of bronze and steel must be hanged beyond space and time.

Broken God. Lord of Metal. Almighty King of Physics and Clockwork.

The Church of the Broken God.

_Donate your belongings and join the eternal grinding of gears and cogs abandon your flesh and blood and bone to be part of the smooth copper platform ditch your family and friends to fulfill your destined mission kneel before His merciful gaze and pray for redemption sing the holy songs cover your body in holy oil carry out baptism with bronze and copper to imitate His blood of mercury we are far from Him we are close to Him we will be a part of Him the world is a part of Him the universe is a mere gear in His grand design._

We are all His clockwork servants.

 

Dear listeners, I… I just received a phone call. It was from the angels who definitely do not exist. A bright black beam illuminated our small studio again, and my tears streamed down again.

They warned me. Yes, the angels, remind you that they don’t actually exist, all of the angels were there. They warned me that the man with the hat and the smile of a cheshire cat is a devil. They warned me that he and his partner carried a purpose vicious and unknown. They warned me, and they sounded… concerned. No, not concerned. Not concerned at all. They sounded… terrified.

“He is the Serpent.” They said. “He was in the garden, on that tree. He spoke the original sin. He came here, he will leave, but he will bring curses, he will bring—”

And then their voices suddenly stopped. There was harsh grinding and clicking sound, and occasionally, screams. The sound. The sound of grinding and clicking was no actual sound. The sound was in my head, in everyone’s head. I don’t know what it means, but maybe a being with awesome might and power who resides beyond our little world had planted a seed in our mind, and the grinding and clicking is its message and its song.

Or maybe not.

Dear listeners, I know Alto Clef lies, but I didn’t know, I didn’t know that he… he…

There are so many things I don’t know. In fact, we can’t possibly know anything. There are so many things that we think we know but actually never know. Like lies, like rabbits, like… the man in the tan jacket.

I’m not sure why I’m mentioning him. I’m pretty sure I don’t know about him.  
I don’t know, I just don’t know Alto Clef’s so dangerous. I don’t know if we still have the chance to stop them, I don’t know if we ever got the chance at all, I don’t know —

I —

De-dear listeners, I don’t know what just happened, the studio door is still locked, but Alto Clef, the Serpent, Father of Lies, i-is standing right behind me. I don’t know how he got in, but his eyes glow and my equipment is making a strange buzzing sound.

Listeners, I see things! I see both hell and heaven burning, I see the gate nailed with wings stained by blood, I see a great red dragon with seven heads and ten horns, I see… I…

_Hey, Cecil. It’s been a long time. How are you?_

I-I’m fine, Mr. Clef.

_Am I not welcomed here?_

No. No! Absolutely no.

_I hear you, Cecil. I hear every word you say. And every word you didn’t say._

I… I —

_Oh, don’t bother. There’s no need to speak. I understand you, Cecil. Who knows, maybe you don’t need to speak ever again._

Wait, what are you — no, no. _No!_

_Oh, my dear Night Vale. Nothing happened just now. Your adorable radio host will be fine. Carlos the former Foundation scientist, who is trembling in his lab currently, will be fine. Steve Carlsberg, who is a bit of trouble, will also be fine. Hiram McDaniels lost two heads, but will probably still be fine._

_I mean, Konny is riding him right now. So I guess… all will be fine._

_Hey, I guarantee._

_And now… the weather._

 

[The Song of Genesis as the weather]

 

Dear listeners, I’m back. I’m still… alive. Alto Clef knocked me out with his ukulele before the weather, but that’s just it. My head hurts a bit, but it’s just like the feeling of biting by a spider you can’t see because it’s on your back all the time. So I guess I’m okay.

Intern Jack Bright however, is not. He is lying in his pool of blood and not breathing. Also, his shining ruby amulet is gone.

I don’t even know if he has any family. But that’s not important right now. Something worse is happening.

Kondraki and Clef, that two visitors… they have entered the Dog Park. There was no entrance, but they just somehow got in that place which we are forbidden from looking at, approaching or even talking about. The situation remains unclear, but we can’t reach the City Council as they are currently hiding in an other-worldly safe with thousands of different other-worldly compartments. And the password was encrypted eight times.

Now, horrible sounds are coming out of the Dog Park, and the hooded figures are… fleeing. Many even triggered the electrified fence. We don’t know what is happening there right now, but I think we will soon find out. According to witnesses, the air there is heating and the temperature is rising dramatically, as if there were three dragons breathing out fire.

Oh dear listeners, the obsidian walls of the dog park was cracked. Broken. Kondraki, the man with the butterflies busted out. Oh dear, he is currently riding mayor candidate Hiram McDaniels who appears now only have three heads left. His two other necks with no head attached are still dripping blood. Lots of blood. Alto Clef follows, and in front of them, there’s a man.

A man. The man. It’s… the man in the tan jacket with a deerskin suitcase. The suitcase is full of flies.

“You have to go back with us.” Alto Clef says.

“Yeah, you, SCP… what’s your number again?” Kondraki says.

“Get out of me!” Hiram McDaniels screams with his three heads. He is then smacked by Kondraki, and starts to whine like a puppy.

The man in the tan jacket says something, but nobody hears. Nobody, except for Alto Clef.

“Yes, we know next to nothing about you.” He replies. “Except that you are not round.”

Then, Kondraki gets off from Hiram’s back, and the man walks towards them. Clef hugs him with both arms but somehow still holding the rabbit which has now stopped eating.

Then, they start to flicker. They shatter into colorful pieces and finally disappear.

 

Dear Night Vale, I think… they have left.

I think… they left for good!

I think they’d better never ever come back again.

I think the City Council probably forgot the password for the safe, thus permanently lock themselves into other-world compartments.

Stay to next for cinnamon rolls placed on my desk. I don’t know where they come from, nor do I want to.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Fantem for checking and correcting the mistakes.


End file.
